Cade’s ebony brows lifted.
‘So this…’ Liv gazed at the package on the floor in dread ‘…is my uniform?’
‘That’s exactly what it is,’ Cade told her stony-faced. ‘And now I suggest you go upstairs and put it on. You are still interested in the job, I take it?’
‘Of course I am—’
‘Well, then.’ He folded his arms across his broad chest. ‘I work to a strict timetable. I’ll give you a draft of my requirements later, but one thing will never change. Supper is always served at seven.’
If he’d told her—
‘I trust it won’t be late again?’
‘Once again, my apologies…’ How she managed to sound calm when Cade was being so unreasonable Liv had no idea. Maybe it was a measure of her determination. But, boy! Could she see why he had trouble hanging onto staff! What with the barren room and the way he’d talked to her—in her opinion a smooth-running household was a team, not a dictatorship.
‘I just like everything to be regular.’
She had to bend down and pick up her parcels before Cade could see the smile on her face. She’d give him regular. A large dose of cascara in his food should sort him out. ‘I’ll lay up the dining room for seven o’ clock,’ she said mildly.
‘Prompt.’
‘Prompt,’ she echoed, holding her breath until Lieutenant Colonel Grant had left the room, at which point she stuck out her tongue and wiggled it vigorously.
Closing the door, he let out his breath in a ragged stream. Shutting his eyes was no deterrent against the evidence. The blouse beneath Liv’s jacket had been soaking wet, revealing the contours of her breasts in alarming detail. He couldn’t trust himself to stay in the same room with her a moment longer, and the faster she got herself into that shapeless uniform, the better it would be all round. He only had to picture his previous housekeeper wearing the same outfit to know that both of them would be completely safe. He, for instance, would be able to breathe again properly, and function like any normal, rational man, instead of the sex-craved, rabid beast he felt sure he had become.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE housekeeper’s uniform was the most hideous thing Liv had ever seen. She could hardly bare to look at her reflection. Woolen stockings, yellow ochre in colour, wrinkled around her ankles, and the shapeless navy blue serge skirt together with its matching boxy jacket was so ugly it should be shredded and set fire to. Cade had no idea. When she thought of the smart army attire he wore for his job it made her ping with fury to think he expected anyone who worked for him to wear this rubbish. She was going to have it out with him—
No, she was going to calm down right now, and accept that she had no alternative but to toe the line, at least for the time being. Did she want this job, or not?
Liv soothed herself by laying out the little trinkets and feminine accessories she had bought in town to make her life in the attic room at Featherstone more bearable. It hadn’t cost her much to transform her bedroom…just a scented candle, a cheap, but pretty chiffon scarf thrown over the back of the single hard-backed chair, a clock, and a pair of fluffy slippers to tuck underneath the bed. Oh, and a small vase full of fresh flowers, as well as a novel for her to read…
Perfect, she thought, standing back smiling as she viewed the finished effect.
But there were still one or two more things she intended to change. If Cade expected staff to use this accommodation, whether she stayed or not, it would require a radical modernisation programme, and to help him with that she would draw up a list…
Liv’s heart lurched at the thought of anyone but her taking over the job of running the household at Featherstone, let alone anyone else living with Cade. She already felt quite protective of her position. Just thinking about Cade had prompted her body to react in a way that she couldn’t just brush aside. And anyway, physical reaction to Cade was a lot more fun than studying the single blanket on her narrow iron bed. The insistent pulsing between her legs made her sigh with pleasure, while the old grey frizzy thing that passed for a cover on her bed just annoyed her. It looked like old army issue, possibly dating back to the Great War. And that was only for starters…There was a single bar of dried-up soap on the cracked and rust-stained washbasin, along with a hand towel that had seen better days. Flimsy curtains drooped sadly at the windows promising the early morning light would flood straight through them, and the threadbare rug only added to the general air of dilapidation.
She stood back, hands on her hips, shaking her head. Featherstone Hall might have known its glory days, but this wasn’t one of them. She’d give Cade her improvements list when they met again at supper.
He did a double take when Liv walked into the kitchen. How could anyone look so sexy wearing that? Even in the ugly flat shoes her legs looked fantastic—until you noticed the wrinkles in her tights, that was. Forget the wrinkles—all thoughts of previous housekeepers were immediately expunged from his mind. All he could think of now was unpeeling Liv like a particularly ripe fruit, and then sucking on her until he was replete—which could take quite some time.
‘I hope you like red meat,’ she said, walking over to the fridge.
His heart sang. Folding the newspaper he’d been reading, he put it to one side. ‘I love red meat.’ He was prepared to cut her as much slack as necessary in the happy anticipation of the first proper meal he’d had in days.
‘If you’d care to relax in the library,’ she went on, ‘I’ll bring you a glass of wine—or beer, if you’d prefer?’ she offered, turning her pearl-white smile on him.
‘A beer would be fine, thank you,’ he said, exhaling with contentment as he left the room.
Having donned her apron, Liv flexed her fingers. She was ready to begin. She was determined to impress Cade, and this was the way to do it. She had been top of the cordon bleu cookery class at Miss Smythson’s finishing school for young ladies.
It would do it, Liv thought, determined, breathing steadily, in through her nose and out through her mouth to a count of three. Remembering Miss Smythson’s advice that a good cook was a calm cook and an organised cook, she had planned this meal like an army exercise, and now she was certain Cade couldn’t fail to be impressed.
She peeled and scraped and washed and mashed and pricked and patted and seasoned, and then cooked the perfect meat and the perfect vegetables for the perfect length of time. When she had finished she wiped her brow, and then wiped the edges of the plate with a fresh, clean cloth she’d had standing by for just this very moment. She stood back and let out her breath in one ragged stream. The dish was a triumph. For once she was right to feel confident.
She had brought him his beer in a wineglass, which he had decided to overlook on the basis that the scent that assailed his nostrils when Liv opened the door spoke to him of gravy and roast potatoes, mashed carrots and honeyed parsnips…
He didn’t have long to wait before disillusionment set in.
‘What’s this?’ he demanded, staring down at his plate. There was a minuscule offering piled in the centre that looked to him like a particularly small pea on top of an overlarge bun.
Liv’s face lit up. No wonder Cade was taken aback. She had
